Old Ursula, whose eyes had twinkled at the sight of gold, courtesied and confessed a little sourly that “Squire Jeffray was very welcome.” Richard blushed, looked from one to the other, and repocketed his money. “I shall not forget your kindness,” he said, simply. “If I can ever serve you, Grimshaw, remember what I said to you last night.” Peter Gladden had gone to saddle and bridle Richard’s mare in the cow-house, and Jeffray proceeded to shake hands again very graciously with Isaac and old Ursula. His heart had been touched by what appeared to him to be simple and unsophisticated kindness; he had not learned to look below the surface of life as yet. He hesitated before Bess, who had risen and was standing looking at her hood that hung upon the key of the linen-press. “Will you show us the path through the woods?” he asked her. Isaac was for offering his services, but a gesture from old Ursula restrained him. “The lass will be proud,” quoth the dame, amiably. “I would go with ye myself, sir, but for the rheumatics. Bess, get your cloak, lass, and go with the gentleman.” And in a whisper into the girl’s ear: “If he is for giving you the guineas, girl, take ’em, and don’t forget it.” Now, Richard Jeffray sent Peter Gladden on ahead with the mare that morning, thus casting doubt on his sincerity in asking for guidance through the woods. He walked with Bess, who had thrown her red cloak over her shoulders and thrust her feet into her best buckled shoes. The woods were full of dancing sunlight and of dew. A brisk breeze played through the branches, chanting desirously, and sweeping the white clouds over the forest in the blue sky above. The promise of spring seemed in the air; already the green gorse was budding gold, and the cry of the world’s youth was on the wind. Richard noticed for the first time that Bess was taller than he was as they walked together under the trees. Her eyes looked down on him a little from under her glorious wreath of sable hair. In truth, she seemed Richard’s master in the matter of mere physical strength; her arms were of greater girth than his by two inches or more, and her supple body would have turned the scale by a stone against Jeffray’s slim but wiry frame. They had little to say to each other for the first furlong or so. The girl appeared farouche and silent, looking at Richard as though half in awe of him. And yet some subtle net of sympathy seemed to have been cast about them both in the course of a single night. “Bess,” said the man, suddenly plunging towards the thoughts that lay close about his heart. Being slightly ahead, she hung back and waited, with her eyes at gaze on the deeps of the woods. “I spoke to Isaac Grimshaw about you last night,” he continued, watching the play of the sunlight upon her face. “About me?” “Yes, and Dan, your cousin.”